


Three Wolves

by sleepyxcoffee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sacking of Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyxcoffee/pseuds/sleepyxcoffee
Summary: It doesn’t take long for Geralt and Eskel to realise they’re soulmates, but it takes many more years for Lambert to accept all three of them are bonded.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Three Wolves

It doesn’t take long for Geralt and Eskel to realise they’re soulmates.

They share a dorm from the moment Eskel arrives at Kaer Morhen, after all, and as roommates, they quickly become familiar with the sight of each others’ naked bodies. They are ten when Eskel notices a mark appear on Geralt’s left shoulder blade. It’s one of the few marks Eskel has ever seen; the older boys guard theirs jealously, and witchers lose their marks during their Grasses.

“Geralt!” Eskel gasps, amazed. Still sluggish with sleep, Geralt twists around from where he is putting on a tunic, bright green eyes peeking out under a curly mop of auburn hair.

“Huh?”

“Your mark!” Eskel bounds off the bed, running towards his friend. He traces the three howling wolves’ heads with reverence. Soulmarks have no colour, but Eskel can tell from the shades of grey that the three wolves are three different colours. The largest is plain grey, with the second largest so pale it is barely shaded. The third, smallest wolf is dark, nearly black. The three wolves are arranged close together, with their noses touching as their heads are thrown back in a howl.

Geralt tries to look at his own shoulder blade and fails. “I can’t see it!” he complains. Eskel puts down his hand, feeling rather strange. Out there, somewhere, is Geralt’s soulmate. He won’t have the same spot in Geralt’s life anymore if he ever meets them, but Eskel pushes the thought away. He wants his friend to be happy.

“Hang on, I think I have a looking glass.” Eskel kneels by his trunk and digs through his meagre belongings. He pulls out a tunic for the day and takes his sleep shirt off as Geralt potters behind him. Suddenly, Geralt freezes, all sounds of movement ceasing.

“Eskel,” Geralt says slowly, “what does my mark look like?”

“Three howling wolves,” Eskel replies instantly. It has been mere minutes since Eskel first saw Geralt’s mark, and yet it is already imprinted in his mind.

“In different shades of grey?” Geralt asks.

“Yes - wait, how do you know this?”

Slowly, as though afraid he is about to startle, Geralt approaches Eskel. He places his hand against Eskel’s right shoulder blade. “Because it’s the same as yours,” Geralt says simply, and suddenly, Eskel’s world feels bright.

***

Lambert knows from the moment he arrives in Kaer Morhen that Eskel and Geralt are soulbonded. It is rare, after all, for witchers to know their mates, and even rarer for their mates to be each other. So even though their marks have been wiped clean by the Trials, Lambert knows that the older witchers are soulmates.

It makes him jealous. What must it be like to have someone always at your back, to put you above all others? It’s a bond that Lambert can only dream of. Even at the young age of ten, Lambert has no illusions. He’s going to become a witcher, and witchers rarely lead happy lives. Whoever his soulmate is is better off dead than to be bound by Destiny herself to a witcher.

Besides, even a soulbond isn’t enough to guarantee happiness. His parents were soulmates, after all, and it didn’t stop his pa from beating his ma. It didn’t stop his pa from beating  _ him _ .

So when Lambert’s mark emerges one morning, he thinks nothing of it. He stares at his chest bitterly; leave it to Destiny to put his mark somewhere as glaringly obvious and cheesy over his Melitele damned heart. Three howling wolves. What kind of soulmark is that, anyway?

Lambert ignores it and puts on his shirt, and goes to training. It doesn’t take him long to forget what it ever looked like once he loses his mark to his Trials.

***

Geralt is the first one to see Lambert’s mark.

Lambert is careful; he keeps his shirt on around others, and bathes facing the wall, almost as if he is ashamed of his mark. But one day in the hot springs Lambert is facing the entrance at the same time Geralt comes in, and he spots the three wolves on Lambert’s chest.

Geralt almost trips over his own feet. A thirteen year old Lambert catches his eye, scowls, and scampers away. Bath forgotten, Geralt immediately goes to find Eskel.

Eskel is sitting in their room, sharpening his swords. They had made a half-hearted attempt at maintaining an air of distance while they trained, but once they became full witchers, they had given up altogether and started sharing a room. As Geralt enters, Eskel wrinkles his nose.

“Geralt, you smell vile. Go take a bath,” Eskel grumps. Geralt ignores him in favour of swooping forwards and kissing Eskel excitedly. Eskel makes a surprised noise and puts away his sword.

“Eskel,” Geralt says excitedly, “we have a soulmate.”

“Well, yes. Each other.”

“No. A  _ third _ .”

Eskel immediately perks up. “Really? Who? In Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt nods, grinning excitedly. “That angry little trainee. Lambert.”

“Lambert? He’s  _ tiny! _ ”

“I know,” Geralt says. He sits down, suddenly serious. “We should wait to tell him. He’s too young.”

“After his first year as a witcher,” Eskel suggests. “He’ll be old enough to choose then.” Their doubt lies unspoken in the air. There is every chance Lambert will reject him; his cynicism is known to all. And while Eskel has always been more than enough for Geralt - well. There is enough love in him for another.

“After,” Geralt agrees. There is risk to that, of course; by then, Lambert’s mark will have been taken by the Trials, but Geralt has faith. He will always have faith.

***

After doesn’t look very pretty.

Lambert is one of the last witchers to ever be created. Mere days after his Trials, Kaer Morhen is sacked.

Geralt and Eskel walk through the keep in a daze, their hands joined. They come across their brothers’ bodies, piling them into a mass pyre. Neither dare speaks. Lambert stands by them with what few witchers remain in silence.

There is enough left to Kaer Morhen that Lambert can finish the last vestiges of his training and set out on the Path. Their mages may be dead, but Lambert is done with his Trials; he need only hone his skills, which Geralt and Eskel gladly help him with. Geralt sends a thousand grateful prayers to Melitele. He doesn’t know how he would cope if either of his soulmates had died.

When Lambert is ready to leave the broken keep, they take him aside. “Lambert,” Eskel says, “we need to talk to you.”

Lambert eyes them suspiciously. “Yeah?”

Geralt hesitates for a moment. “Your soulmark,” he finally says. “It was three wolves.” Lambert stiffened.

“I don’t have a soulmark,” Lambert snaps. “I lost it with the Trials.”

“Before,” Geralt says. “I saw it. Once.”

“Three howling wolves, of three different sizes, in three different shades,” Eskel adds quietly. Lambert scoffs.

“Do you gossip about  _ everybody’s _ soulmarks? Those things are private, you know.” Geralt ignores the quip. He knows Lambert; he knows (knew) all of his brothers, but he has kept an eye on Lambert especially.

“Not everyone’s,” Eskel says quietly. “Just yours.”

Lambert eyes him warily. “What, were you placing bets or something?”

“I told Eskel about your soulmark because it’s the same as ours.”

For a moment, there is silence. Lambert stares at Geralt in disbelief. “That’s not possible,” he stammers. “You can’t have  _ two _ soulmates.”

“You can.” Eskel speaks slowly, hesitantly. Geralt trades a worried look with him. One wrong word, and this could all fall apart. “It’s happened, in the past. I know it seems impossible, but it happens, and we can make it work.”

Lambert stays quiet, staring at Geralt and Eskel with an unreadable expression.

“We didn’t want to rush you,” Geralt says. “You were young when I saw it, and we didn’t want to pressure you.”

“But you’re older now,” Eskel adds. “You can make those decisions - if you want us or not, if you want to take us to bed -”

Something in Lambert’s expression breaks, and he throws down the sword he had been holding. “Fuck you,” he snarls. Eskel reels back in shock. “Fuck both of you - how  _ could you  _ \- I trusted you!”

“Lambert, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you -” Geralt begins, but Lambert cuts him off furiously.

“How dare you.” Lambert starts pacing anxiously. “Is it because you feel sorry for me? It’s pity, isn’t it? Little Lambert, all alone, nobody could ever love him, not even his soulmate, so you pretend we can be a happy little menage-a-trois.”

“Lambert,” Eskel tries, “Lambert, we’re not lying -”

“Fuck you,” Lambert growls. He picks his sword off the ground and stomps out of the keep, leaving Eskel and Geralt behind in the dust.

The two older witchers stand in silence, shocked. Then Eskel moves to go after Lambert, but Geralt shoots out and catches his arm. “No,” Geralt says quietly. “He doesn’t want us. Leave him be.”

“Geralt -”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel tilts his head.

“Huh?” Geralt refuses to meet his soulmate’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No it isn’t. I was the one who said we should wait -”

“No.” Geralt strides to a window and, stepping around a pile of rubble, leans out. Eskel comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Geralt?”

Suddenly, Geralt hits the wall, shouting angrily. Eskel blinks, but stands his ground. Geralt leans back against the wall and slides down into a seated position, burying his head between his knees. One hand has bleeding knuckles, and the other grips tightly onto a piece of debris.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeats, muffled. “I - this is all my fault.”

“Geralt, wait,” Eskel says. Geralt ignores him and gets back on his feet, striding out of the room. Alone, Eskel groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

***

The next winter is awkward.

Lambert plays Avoid-Geralt-and-Eskel, instead spending all his time with Aubry and Gweld and Remus, and sometimes even Vesemir and Rennes, which Eskel thinks shows how truly desperate to avoid his soulmates Lambert is. Vesemir pulls Eskel aside one day to ask what happened, and when Eskel explains, Vesemir only sighs. “I’m sorry,” is all he says, before walking away.

Eskel tries to talk to Lambert a few more times. Geralt ignores Lambert and steers clear of his path. It is, quite possibly, the worst winter Eskel has ever had.

Come spring, all the witchers go their separate ways. With their numbers decimated by the pogroms, they can’t afford to stick together anymore - they have to spread out if they want any chance at keeping the Continent safe.

The next winter is slightly better. Lambert (reluctantly) speaks to Eskel when he is spoken to, and Geralt stops avoiding Lambert like the plague. For Eskel, it is enough; he can live without one soulmate’s love, so long as he knows both are safe and alive.

(It’s a lie, and Geralt knows it too. Destiny has decreed it so.)

In a few winters, the memory of their fateful conversation has been buried. Then Eskel gets his scars, and he wonders if Lambert would have grown to love him without them.

***

Lambert pines from a safe distance.

Geralt and Eskel are perfect together. Even if they were soulmates - well. It’s not Lambert’s place to intrude on a love that beautiful. Lambert is harsh edges and cruel words and a sour heart; he deserves no love. Besides, with how quickly they dropped the topic, it really does make Lambert think that it was all a ploy to pity fuck Lambert, which, although Lambert won’t admit it,  _ hurts _ .

***

“I hate Destiny,” Geralt says to Eskel one day over a game of Gwent. Eskel’s hand hovers over a card.

“Why?” Eskel asks, although he knows the answer. Geralt doesn’t reply, and motions for Eskel to play his turn. Geralt completely trounces Eskel, which is no surprise, and although Eskel wins the next round, Geralt ultimately wins the game.

As they shuffle their cards, Geralt speaks again. “She,” he says slowly, “has given me a lover who will never love me back.” Eskel frowns.

“There’s still a chance,” Eskel replies.

Geralt shakes his head. “Lambert hates us.”

“Lambert hates himself,” Eskel corrects. “He thinks we’ll never love him.”

“But I  _ do _ ,” Geralt hisses.

“As do I.”

Geralt plays a spy. Eskel responds with a decoy. They continue their game in silence. At the end of the first round, Eskel finally speaks again.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt tilts his head.

“For what?”

Eskel sets down his cards, scarred brow furrowed. “I think he’s disgusted by me. By -” Eskel makes an aborted wave at his scars.

Geralt immediately stands, and strides around the table to seat himself on Eskel’s lap. Wrapping his arms around Eskel’s neck, he places a gentle kiss on his lips. “It’s not your fault” Geralt says softly. “You’re worthy of love.”

“And so is Lambert,” Eskel says, muffling his words in Geralt’s neck.

Outside the door, unbeknownst to either of them, Lambert sinks to his knees.

***

Lambert doesn’t bring it up again until next winter, and even then, only under the influence of his specially brewed White Gull.

“Did you really mean it?” he slurs as he throws a dice.

“Mean what?” Eskel asks from the floor. Geralt makes a happy humming sound as he tries to build a structure out of spoons, dice forgotten. Lambert can’t find it in him to remind Geralt it’s his turn to roll.

“What you said.”

“We say a lot of things. Well,” Eskel adds after a moment of thought, “not Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Something like… thirty years ago,” Lambert says. “After the pogroms.”

Eskel slowly sits up. Geralt abandons his spoons.

“Yes,” Eskel whispers. His voice is barely perceptible; only a witcher could hear it.

“Huh.” Lambert stands. Geralt follows him with wary eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asks as Lambert strides out of the room. Lambert scoffs and throws a look over his shoulder.

“To your bed,” he says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. He tries to calm his pounding heart. Eskel and Geralt’s expressions are hilariously startled. Then they scramble up and run after Lambert.

That night, Lamber finds himself safely embraced by two warm bodies. In the morning, he awakens still in the middle, and has a brief moment of panic before he is comforted by two familiar scents and two steadily beating hearts.

Then Lambert remembers how he got there, and he panics anyway. He tries to worm out of their hold, but Geralt tightens his grip and grumbles in his sleep. Eskel stirs lazily, blinking awake.

“Lambert?” he asks, and Lambert panics just a bit more. He braces himself, and Eskel says, “Where are you going?”, catching him completely off guard.

“I -” Lambert blinks. “Are you… okay with me here?”

A strange expression crosses Eskel’s expression, and Lambert remembers the conversation he overheard last winter. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” Eskel says, voice tight.

“No - I do. But I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding on anything,” Geralt rumbles. Lambert starts - he hadn’t realised Geralt is even awake.

“We want you here,” Eskel agrees, and Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone.

***

“What made you say yes?” Eskel asks one day in bed, later that winter. They are both wound around Geralt, trading kisses as Geralt contents in their warmth.

“I -” Lambert stops and shakes his head. “It’s stupid.” Geralt shoots up to catch a kiss from both of them before returning to resting his forehead against Eskel’s chest, hand intertwined with Lambert’s.

“You can tell us,” Eskel prods, and Geralt hums in agreement. He turns around to face Lambert, resting a hand gently on his cheek. Lambert nestles into it. He has learned that while Eskel speaks his love in words, Geralt shows his through touch, and he sees Geralt’s silent display of support for what it is.

“I overheard you last winter,” Lambert admits.

Eskel frowns. “You overheard us? What did you -  _ oh _ .” Geralt’s eyes widen.

“When you first told me, I thought you just wanted sex,” he continues.

“Never,” Geralt promises.

“We want you here because we love you,” Eskel says, and even though Lambert has heard Eskel say it before, it doesn’t fail to make his heart skip a beat, knowing those words are meant for him.

Lambert can almost feel his missing soulmark burn.


End file.
